


Eels?

by dirtgrub



Category: From Beyond (1986), Re-Animator (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Poor Dan, also its not written abt in here but jsyk herbert is gay OBVIOUSLY, everyone in this says fuck cops!, herbert west is a bastard, i mean no this is more like Poor Crawford, small bastard cant catch a break also he hates cops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 19:30:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17628305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtgrub/pseuds/dirtgrub
Summary: Where Crawford doesn't get caught by the police and winds up at Dan & Herbert's house





	Eels?

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for class and thought id post it! Also Herbert is gay and autistic. So is Crawford. Thank You. WAIT also Herbert is trans

    Night fell on Benevolent street. Fuschia light was beginning to crackle out of the windows of one of the older estates again, and one woman was wondering why the hell she had decided to live next to the house with a street number like 666. Every night there was something else, some fresh disturbance to her quiet evenings. She eyed the phone. Usually, she would call up the police and harangue them into coming over. She hesitated. Earlier that day, she had heard two short raps on her front door. She assumed that it was the postman, or maybe a neighbor from the house over that needed sugar, but she opened the door to a small man that she had never seen before. He introduced himself as Crawford Something-hast, from next door. He gestured to 666 Benevolent. She found it within herself to plaster on a smile and not slam the door in his face.

    He started by apologizing for the nightly disturbances. He and his mentor were constructing an important scientific experiment, see, and they were close to a breakthrough. He promised that tonight, fingers crossed, would be the last night they’d need to run a preliminary test before finally relocating to a proper lab. He seemed genuine, if a little frantic. Maybe he had figured out that is was her who kept calling the police. Either way, she thanked him, wished him luck, and made a small joke about knocking off the noise. He hesitated before laughing tentatively, then started back down the walkway.

    “Have, ah, have a nice night!”

    She made a note to hold off on the calls, finding solace in the fact that they would be gone soon.

* * *

 

    The wild animal in his chest scrambled faster, beating harder and harder against his ribcage. The world was losing focus and all he could see was that damned blinding pink. The panic choked his eyes like a thick gauze, and he had to act fast. He felt an axe clutched in his hands. He felt the hypnotic pull of the machine, felt the discordant crash of it shattering. Then he ran. Tripping over the steps, slamming into the first landing, and practically falling down to the ground floor, his only clear thought was _holy fuck I need to get away from that fucking_ thing _as fast as fucking possible oh God oh shit_ . His legs carried him out the door with no intention of stopping. He knew that the axe had put an ugly end to _it_ —it had to, it needed to—but the primal part of his brain that had protected his ancestors from predators so long ago was already pumping frantic adrenaline through his frame. He couldn’t feel his hands, couldn’t feel any part of his body as he passed by the driveway gate. Where was he going to go? Not to the neighbors. They hated him—he had to beg them just to not turn him in to the cops. The cops... definitely not the cops. They’d pin this on him, would pin it _all_ on him. Bastards. He hurtled around the street corner. There was only one place to go. His vision was still distorted and bleary, so he was relying purely on terrified instinct as he tore through the neighborhoods. He knew how to get there, though. His chest started to burn.

    The sight of 666 Darkmore was a distant relief as he neared the house. The porch light was on — Dan must be home. He slammed his fist against the door while trying to catch his breath.

    As he pounded on the door, he called out, “DAN? YOU HOME?” he paused to take in a ragged breath, “HERBERT? GUYS? COME ON, OPEN THE DOOR, I—” he hated how desperate he sounded.

    Before he could finish his distraught pleading, the door opened.

    “Crawford? What—”

    Dan was interrupted by a blur that ducked under his arm and bolted into the living room. The blur collapsed onto the couch. Dan sighed.

\-----------

    He had met Crawford before, though the circumstances weren’t optimal. Herbert had insisted upon breaking into an abandoned house down on Benevolent street in the name of reclaiming research supplies left by old Miskatonic U students, and Dan had relented. The theft, he rationalized, was peanuts compared to their usual activity—plus, they were broke medical students that needed an electrocardiograph from _somewhere_ , right?

    The house, as it turned out, was _not_ abandoned. Dan learned this when the basement light flickered on and bathed them in heart-stopping fluorescence. Herbert let out a yelp that would later be denied.

    “Herbert? What are you doing here?”

    “What are _YOU_ —”

    “I LIVE HERE!”

    As Herbert descended into an argument with the stranger, Dan realized three things: 1) he sounded eerily similar to Herbert (down to the overly dramatic cadence), 2) actually, the pair looked almost identical, like they were… 3) Twins. Dan wanted to strangle Herbert.

    “Herbert! Who is this!”

    “Daniel. This is Crawford,” he said shortly, gesturing to the stranger, “my brother.”

    “AND YOU DIDN’T THINK TO MENTION THAT, OH, ANY OTHER TIME?”

    “LATER, Dan!” he sniffed. “We’re _leaving_ ,” he spat.

    Crawford gave Dan a sympathetic smile on the way out.

\-----------

    “What the hell’s going on, Crawford?”

    Crawford, now with his face sunk into a cushion, waved a frenzied hand. Dan took this as the universal “later.” Later… Dan’s thoughts flickered to his basement, where his roommate was, no doubt, holed up. Had he not heard the shouting?

    He paced back to the basement door, calling down, “Herbert? Got a second?”

    A head popped up at the bottom of the steps, accompanied by the usual eldritch yowling.

    “Give me a minute.”

    After the sound of a brief struggle and a final crash, the yowling stopped. The fridge was neatly shut, and a blood-spattered Herbert started up the steps. When he reached the top, dan gestured to the living room.

    “Your brother’s here.”

    “Yes, I gathered.”

    The pair looked over Crawford. He was still clinging to the sofa, tremors coursing through him. Herbert stood, unmoving, analyzing the scene. Dan elbowed him. Herbert flinched, concentration broken by Dan’s needling. Dan raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at Crawford; Herbert sneered and crossed his arms. After a second of exasperation, Dan gestured with both hands towards Crawford, as if to say, _listen, I don’t give a shit if you don’t like him; he’s your brother and you should do something!_ With a sigh, Herbert stalked over to the couch and sat next to his damned twin.

    “Crawford.”

    No response.

    “Why are you here, Crawford? Did Pretorious finally go mad?” Direct. Deadpan. Smug. He had always been open about his hatred for what he deemed an “anti-scientist.” Crawford peeked out at Herbert with a haunted gaze; Herbert returned a cold stare. Crawford straightened slightly, still clutching a throw pillow to his chest. Blood spotted the cushion where his cheek had been pressed into it.

    “Shit, you’re bleeding!” like any good doctor looking to escape a situation, Dan rushed out of the room to grab a first-aid kit.

    Herbert’s gaze dropped, flicked to his frozen duplicate, then returned to the floor as he considered employing empathy.

    Gentler than the first time, he asked, “What happened, Crawford?”

    Crawford took in a shaky breath. His eyes were still glazed over, still as if they had seen a ghost. He stared at the wall.

    “It... was awful. I tried to stop it, but. It got out of hand. There was no stopping THAT. I-I know it’s here now, you know, I can feel it, it’s all around us! And. Those creatures, they were… they were like eels, but, but with more teeth, and more eyes, and—took a chunk out of my face, look, see? Shit. My head is killing me…” the panic in his voice rose as he talked, trailing off when he pressed the heel of his palm into his forehead.

    Herbert furrowed his brow. He had known Crawford was researching the pineal gland, which _could_ hypothetically cause hallucinations, but even then, how would a hallucination cause physical harm…?

    “Now, Crawford, are you sure—”

    “OF COURSE,” Crawford snapped, making Herbert pause for once. “I’m _absolutely_ sure of what I saw. It… it killed Pretorious,” tears were welling in his eyes again.

    Dan came back into the room with the first-aid kit, wondering why his life was like this.

    “Killed…” Herbert mulled, “…how long ago? Is the body intact?”

    Immediately sensing where this was going, Dan cut in.

    “Herbert! Shut up. Crawford, what killed him?” He was used to death, to his own

    “It was wretched. The face, it wasn’t human, it was—it was a _mockery_ of human anatomy. The limbs, there were too many limbs, jutting out at these terrible angles and, God, the _ooze_ ….” his eyes glazed over as he relived the scene. “The maw of it was the worst of all. Just, rows and rows of teeth, sharp enough to. Well.” He faltered.

    “To what?”

    “I just watched. I couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything as it wrapped its deformed jaws around his head. It…” he looked between Herbert and Dan, the hysteria in his voice mounting.

    “ _It... bit off his head_ **_like a gingerbread man_ **.”

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> The end is supposed 2 b funny bc the way Jeffrey Combs says It Bit Off His Head Like A Gingerbread Man is fucking hilarious thank u 4 reading


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